Pages

Stat Counter

Translate

Search This Blog

About Me

Welcome!
To me, there is nothing more precious than our family.
We are all connected in some way, like the branches of a tree. This site explores those branches, sharing family stories and information - both known and yet to be discovered - so we can meet the people behind the names and gain insights into our own lives. If you have questions or wish to share your own memories or photo about a family on this site, please leave a comment, or contact me.

Thursday, July 12, 2012

In Part 1, my father, Gilbert Huesca, described his life as a child growing up as part of a working family in Orizaba, a mountain town in Mexico's eastern state of Veracruz. In 1923, when Gilbert was 23 years old, my grandfather, Cayetano Huesca, was laid off from his job with the Mexican Railway Company. He and my grandmother, Catalina (Perrotin) Huesca, moved the family - by now numbering eight children - back to my father's birthplace of Tierra Blanca (also in Veracruz). There, they opened another hotel, El Buen Gusto, or the Good Taste Hotel. Cayetano, ever the entrepreneur, opened a bike rental business for his guests. The stories below are told in my father's words, taken from our conversations over the years:

"When I got a little older and we moved back to Tierra Blanca, I started riding a bike. My father wanted all of us to learn how to ride bikes, but again, how could he do that with so many children and so many responsibilities? He was a father first and a businessman second. So, what else? - he decided to rent bicycles.

"When he gave one of us a bike, it would be a brand new bike, and he’d show us how to ride it and become familiar with it. Of course, we’d ride our bikes all around Tierra Blanca. Going around the Alameda, the main park of the town - and it’s a big park - would be my dad, Enrique, Eduardo, Victoria, and I. My father used to push us forward. 'We’re gonna fall,' we’d say. And he’d say, 'Okay. Fall! We’re gonna learn on the bike. You have to get back on the bike.'

"And so we learned to be good bike riders.

"Not too long after I got my bike, I fell off and it broke. I went home to my father, crying because I wanted him to fix it for me. He took the bike from me and instead of fixing it, he took it apart completely, piece by piece. 'I'm not going to repair your bike,' he said. 'You are going to do it yourself.'

"I couldn't believe it. I started crying again, this time very loudly. 'But I don't know anything about bikes! How am I going to fix it if I don't know anything about bikes?'

"My father was a very wise man, and he knew what he was doing. 'Maybe you don't know anything about bikes yet, but this is how you will learn. And I know you can do it.' And he just left me there, staring at my bike.

"I sat there for a long time. I couldn't believe he would leave me like that. At that moment, I thought he was the meanest father in the world. I cried and cried.

"And after a while, I realized he was not coming back to help me, and I began to look at the parts. I picked them up and began turning them over in my hands. And I put my bike back together again, all by myself. I was very proud that I could do it. And when I showed my father, I could see he was very proud of me, too.

"Some time after that, I was out riding my bike and was enjoying the ride so much I did not pay attention to the time. When I realized how late it was, I rode home as fast as I could. I could hear my parents looking for me in the hotel, calling my name. I ran to my room with my bike. I do not know why I still had my bike with me, but I hid under my bed and pulled my bike under the bed, too.

"My father came to my room, calling my name. He sounded very angry. I tried to move farther under the bed, but I guess I pushed my bike out a little bit, and my father saw it. He knew I was there and told me to come out. I knew I was in big trouble. I tried to get out, but I was stuck! My father had to help me get out of there. I think he knew that I had suffered enough when I finally got out, because he never punished me. I learned my lesson and never came home late again.

"My father used to tell us that our parents are right next to God. He did not mean by this that they were equal to God, but that they had a duty that was given them by God to love us and teach us in the same way as He would. They made many sacrifices for us but never called attention to themselves. My father used to say you should never let the right hand know what the left hand is doing. They understood that this was their obligation as parents. Whatever they had, they shared with us and with anyone else who needed help. And they expected us to do the same.

"None of us wanted to disappoint our parents, not because we were afraid of them, but because we viewed them in a sacred way. They never raised a finger to us. All my father would have to do when he disapproved of something we did was look at us in a certain way, and we would know we had done something wrong. It was very powerful.

"The love my mother and father had for us was the best education in life and values we could ever have. How lucky we were. Thank God for them."

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

The Huesca-Perrotin FamilyLeft to right: Delia Domitila, Victoria, and Gilbert Huesca; Catalina(Perrotin) Huesca; Cayetano Huesca (standing), Mario Huesca and Maria(Amaro) Perrotin (both seated); Blanca Perrotin; and Eduardo and EnriqueHuesca. Notice my father, who was about seven years old in this photograph: even as a young boy, he loved wearing neckties, just like his father.Orizaba, Veracruz, April 22, 1923

For as long as I can remember, nearly all the stories my father, Gilbert Huesca, told of his life as a young boy included his parents. During this early period, his father, Jose Gil Alberto Cayetano Huesca, was a major influence on his life. He credited my grandfather's vision and wisdom with forming his values and his own style of parenting, and he never spoke of him without a deep tone of reverence. The recollections that follow are told in my father's own words, taken from our many conversations over the years.
- Linda Huesca Tully

"We returned in about 1919 to Orizaba from (our two year stay in) Chiapas. My Tío - or Uncle, Felix Francisco "Pancho" Perrotin (my mother’s older brother), his wife Ester, and their daughters, Catalina and Celia, welcomed us at the railroad station, and they looked for a Catholic school for us in Orizaba, so we could learn the Creed and the catechism.

"Tío Pancho had red hair, like my brother Mario. He worked on the railroad. I think he was an engineer. He and my father were very close, like brothers. Tia Ester was a very beautiful, petite lady.

"Every Sunday we would visit Tío Pancho and Tía Ester. They had a very nice home in Orizaba. He had a big, high stove, and he always seemed to be cooking on it. I think he built it himself. Catalina was the oldest, and Celia was maybe 6 or 7 years old. I don't think I played with them because they were older than me, but they guided us like angels.

"We were living in Orizaba when Tío Pancho died, so it would be about 1921 or 1922. We all went to his funeral. I remember seeing the casket and everything. His was the first funeral I went to in my life.

- - - - -

"When I was a young boy, I raised silkworms. I used to cut sleeves for them from mulberry trees. Fascinating! I used to spend hours and hours playing with the silkworms and making little nests for them.

"My father was a very wise and industrious man. We were 11 children in all, and he did his best to provide for us and give us a home and a good life. He needed to provide beds for all of us, so he bought a hotel. All of us worked in that hotel, from oldest to the youngest, whether it was washing windows or mopping floors. And the youngest ones had to help, too, even if it was to carry something for my mother. I had to make all the beds every morning before I went to school. Not half-way, but the right way: with perfect corners, no wrinkles, and the sheets tucked in neatly and evenly. My sister Catrín (Catalina) used to wash the dishes. There were a lot of dishes. My brothers, Enrique and Eduardo, helped with many things, but one of those was meeting the hotel guests at the train station and delivering their luggage to the hotel. My father used to emphasize to us, 'We are a team,' and we did work as a team, every single one of us.

"Along with the hotel, he established a restaurant for the convenience of the guests. It also helped him to feed our family: 11 children, my parents, plus my grandmother, my aunt Blanca, and of course the workers at the hotel, because we did have some people there to help us. My mother did all of the cooking. She was an excellent cook.

"He wanted us to be good athletes, so he built a roller skate rink and a bowling alley. All the people in the town used to go there. I think the bowling alley was the first one in the town, and my father built it himself, with my brothers and I there, helping him. It is not easy to build a bowling alley, because you have to keep the lanes very level and observe standard regulations. Everything has to be planned right the first time, and everything has to done precisely. My father was particular with every detail. We could not rush the job, and he involved us in all the steps. So we learned more than just how to bowl. We learned how to be patient and how to plan our work and how to do things right.

Two of the Huesca brothers: Eduardo (second fromright) and Enrique (far right), with the wagon theyused to transport luggage and small freight from therailway Station to the family hotel, circa 1928.

"My father also opened a casino. Not a casino like the kind in Las Vegas, but one with card and game tables. We all learned how to play cards and how to be dealers and watch the players. My father would look in the direction of a player and then at us, placing his forefinger below his eye. This gesture is called, 'ojo,' which in Spanish means, 'Keep an eye on that person.' And we would watch the person to make sure they were not cheating.

"I suppose that because I was very young, I took things literally. In 1921, when I was five or six years old, a general came to the hotel to rent a room. He was a great big man, and he had a very impressive uniform with shiny buttons and a lot of medals. But I could tell there was something about him that my father did not like. My father needed to leave the room for a few minutes, and I guess he was concerned that the general might take the money from the cash register. There was no one else there with us, so he turned to me and discreetly pointed his finger below his eye - 'ojo.' When he returned, there I was, with my eyes open very wide, and my index finger pressed against my lower eyelid as I watched the general - all business!

"My father's face turned white. This was in the days right after the Revolution. In those days, you had to be very careful around the soldiers, especially the army officers, because if they thought you were against them in any way, you could be killed. They did not ask questions but they could shoot you and that would be it. But maybe the general could see that I was just a little boy and was very innocent.

Monday, July 09, 2012

[Note: Amanuensis is an ancient word meaning one who performs the function of writing down or transcribing the words of another. Derived from the Latin root manu- , meaning manual or hand, the word also has been used as a synonym for secretary or scribe.]

My father, Gilbert Huesca, August 2008

My father's earliest memory - of the period from 1917 to 1919, when he was between two and four years old - came to him weeks before he died in June 2009, at the age of 93.

"It came back to me in a dream," he told me that Sunday morning in May. He had been thinking about it for a few days by then.

"For so many years I couldn't remember how I spent my earliest years, and it came back to me in a dream, but it was reality."

He went on to recall that his father, Cayetano Huesca, and a group of other people, including several British and American citizens, were hired on a contract basis in about 1917 to perform maintenance on the machines at a lumber mill in Coapan, a town in the state of Chiapas. Cayetano brought my grandmother, Catalina (Perrotin) Huesca, his sister-in-law, Blanca Perrotin, his mother-in-law, Maria (Amaro) Perrotin, and their children, Enrique, Eduardo, Victoria, Gilbert (my father), and Delia Domitila.

"There were two classes (on the train) in Mexico: first class and second class. We traveled in first class, and we were sent with the very best things. I remember we arrived in Coapan, close to Tonala. I was about two or three years old.

"I believe the name of the company at the time was Coapan Lumber Company, belonging to Chiapas state, and the new railroad city was Tonala. (The company) provided a compound of very nice homes for the employees from Orizaba. We had a large English style home, built of lumber, a very good home."

The homes were built across the street from the lumber mill. The area was surrounded by a lush forest and fields, where the Huesca family often went on picnics. Livestock and wildlife were plentiful, so much so that the children were never left unattended while playing outside.

There were a lot of people with English surnames, but my father remembered the names of two men in particular: a Mr. Wilson and a Mr. McDaniels. He did not know what they did for the lumber mill, but he did recall that Mr. McDaniels was a close friend of Tia Blanca's.

"And everyone spoke in English, including my mother, my grandmother, my aunt, and us kids. Even my father. Everyone. No Spanish at all. . . . Everything was American or English. My mother was always well-dressed, in a skirt and a little tie."

The most vivid memory he had of the place was the day a massive fire destroyed the mill. "It was the first fire in my life. We saw the flames. Victoria was there and Enrique was there and Eduardo was there, too. And I remember the fire came right up to our house, but the house never caught on fire.

"I don’t know - I guess I was scared, but I was very little, and to me, it was still fascinating. There were animals like cows and oxen that were pulling little wagons to move things out of the lumberyard, but it was too late. Big, big flames came and engulfed the lumber company. It disappeared. It just disappeared."

And so, too, did the contract. "After that, we weresent back to Orizaba. But thosetwo years were part of our lives. Maybe even the best time of our lives.

"It came back to me in a dream after all these years, but it was part of my life."

* * * * *

My father died of prostate cancer barely a month after he told me this story. It was the first time and only time I heard it, and the more I think about it, the more questions I have, though none of these have to do with the integrity of the story. I have every reason to believe my father, especially given his sharp memory for detail, even during his final months. I recall that he was even quick to remind me that he was not taking any medication that would have affected his recollection.

As I try now to research the Coapan Lumber Company, I am hitting a brick wall. There does not appear to be a place named Coapan in the southern state of Chiapas, though there is such a place in the west coast state of Nayarit. Perhaps town was called something else?

Chiapas, with its dense forests and jungles, definitely has a history of deforestation, particularly since the early 19th century, when foreign interests brought in a number of cattle ranchers and lumber companies, the latter attracted by the Lacandon mahogany, also called "Tabasco Wood." These foreign-run companies began to decline in 1917, and they disappeared altogether in 1949, when the Mexican government prohibited the exportation of log lumber.

With that said, however, remember that my father references the Coapan Lumber Company as owned by the state of Chiapas. Had it originally been foreign-owned and perhaps nationalized by 1917? And what of the fire that destroyed the lumber company? Was it accidental, or could it have been caused by arson, as part of the brewing unrest over foreign exploitation of the land and its people?

My grandfather, Cayetano Huesca, was trained by his father as a carpenter but expanded his skills and abilities to become a mechanic, an invaluable job in the Industrial Age, and one that would serve him well later upon his return to Orizaba, when he became a mechanic on the Mexican Railroad.. It would be easy to see that his skills would have been in demand at a lumber mill. The fact that he may have also been able to speak English (his wife and her family did, having spoken English and French at home) would have made him more useful to British or American lumbermen. At the time, Orizaba continued to have an expatriate colony of British, French, and American citizens, most of whom had come to work on the railroad many years before. Hence, it would make sense that the city would be a good source of skilled workers to augment the (often forced) labor of the Lacandon Indians who worked in the lumber camps and cut down the trees.

I believe this is a valid recollection of an early part of my father's life. Though sadly there is no one left today who can fill in the blanks of this story, I hope we will find those answers some day.